


and, if i feel tommorow, like, i feel today

by howdothestarslook



Category: Handsome Devil (2016)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Gay Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Pet Names, Post-Canon, Queer Themes, this fandom deserves so much more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howdothestarslook/pseuds/howdothestarslook
Summary: the second time round is different, for some reason. conor feels anxiety, ned comforts him.
Relationships: Conor Masters & Ned Roche, Conor Masters/Ned Roche
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	and, if i feel tommorow, like, i feel today

**Author's Note:**

> cw // slight panic attack !!
> 
> i wrote this in like just a few hours and it's bad LMAO sorry !! the title is from 'strangers' by the kinks !!   
> comments and kudos are appreciated :)

conor masters is 17 years old when he wins the finals of the rugby championship, for the second time.

in the moment, the winning moment, the moment when he kicks and it lands just as he had planned, it's euphoric. it's everything he's ever wanted and it's everything he's ever been doubted for, sparked alight and exploding into colourful hues at midnight. it's like he's completely drunk. and in every way, it's like a giant 'fuck you, I told you so!' to both pascal and weasel. he feels like he's on fire. like he's the one to be celebrated. and weirdly as ned holds him in his arms after the final whistle blows, conor's nearly in total agreement with all of it. that he's the one to be celebrated. he's deserving of such love, and desire, and excitement. because he made that kick. he did that. he deserves it all. then he stops, and he breathes, and he thinks. and he realises, it's not for him. not for a minute. it's all for ned. every last word of celebration is for ned. because, well think about it. conor wouldn't have even played if it wasn't for him.

'thank you, so much.' is what he says, when ned squeezes him tight. he means it. he means it so earnestly, ned saved everything. ned is everything. for the love of god, ned is everything he's ever known about happiness, because there's no one else on this earth that knows how to make conor laugh as ned does. even when he's in the worst mood and he's frustrated and angry and sad and he doesn't understand what he's feeling, ned always makes him laugh. or he'll sing to him. the first time it happened, and ned had started singing to him strumming little melodies on his guitar, it felt weird, unnatural, but as the nights passed and they sung to each other in dark-coloured moments, it grew on them. it felt intimate. precious. special. like that was just for them. it was hardly like either of them would tell anyone else because well, it was simply unlikely it'd come up in conversation over a pint or in the changing rooms.

'shut up.' is what ned says when they pull away from their hug, pulling conor back into real life. it's overwhelming. immediately. everyone is jumping and screaming and crying and conor can't take it. he feels like he's suffocating. and ned looks at him with those 'are you okay?' eyes he does sometimes and he can't bring himself to answer. god. he's panicking. oh god. shit. he can't breathe. he doesn't know what to do. partly even where he is. so he runs. as with everything he's done ever, he runs away. and he feels like a failure. a painful oxymoron brought upon his life. he just won the rugby championship, for the second time ever, and he feels like a failure. a massive fucking failure.

he's almost glad when he hits the floor of the changing rooms. the door slamming behind him engulfing him amongst the silence. this feels nice. nothing can hurt him here, yet. he knows this. later his dad is going to call them out, shoving a drink in his hand. his dad will chat and laugh and talk and find out how conor came out to them all. and everything will fall apart again. he's shaking. his hands won't stop shaking. god. what the fuck is going on? he just won. he just fucking won.

when ned comes in, running after him, eyes wide and riddled with confusion and concern, the door slams against its frame again. he looks so...confused, looking at conor sat there, shaking. 'conor...i-' is all ned can seem to find the words for. he doesn't understand. it doesn't make any sense. conor did what, rightfully, everyone thought he wanted to do the most and he's close to tears, as if he's done something wrong. he doesn't speak, deciding that silence is definitely better for them right now. instead, he sits down pulling conor into his arms and conor lays his head against ned's chest, listening to the gentle thudding of his heartbeat. this feels right, for right now.

a moment later, when ned squeezes him tighter, conor cries a little, ned threading a hand into conor's hair. ned lets him cry, he knows he needs this. it's a rarity for conor to show emotions like this. usually, he's a testosterone-fueled machine, full of frustration but right now, like this, with the whole world celebrating outside, he's so gentle. he would never admit to it out loud, but he loves seeing this side of conor. it feels special to be the one to get to see him like this. so placid and benign.

he just wishes conor didn't have to hurt for them to be this way.

'do you want to leave? we can go home, back to- back to our room.' ned asks after a moment, he understands the rest of the rugby team are going to be filing back in here eventually, and although the majority of them seem to understand the complexities of sexuality, this would be....humiliating, he thinks. they wouldn't hear the end of it, that's for sure. it feels selfish, dragging conor away from his emotions to avoid humiliation. he doesn't want conor not to express them, he just understands, sometimes, they have to do these things in the quiet of their dorm.

conor thinks for a minute, looking up into ned's eyes. he feels like he's always looking into ned's eyes recently. but god, they're so pretty. he can't help it. ned smiles, pushing conor's hair out of his eyes. ned thinks conor has pretty eyes too. even after he's been crying. ned wants to chase them. see exactly what conor thinks, what his thoughts sound like. he imagines conor's thoughts sound like a train passing, thundering down the track. conor has always been too complex for ned to work out. he likes the challenge, though, of imagining the inside of his mind. immaculate, he thinks.

conor doesn't understand completely what he's feeling, in moments like this. not that he's ever faced this before. just overwhelming ones similar to this he means. ned always makes things so simple. in such a way that the world feels so...empty. like it's just them, the cold of the linoleum and the faulty flickering light of the changing room ceiling. just them. he knows it not, but it feels that way. he wants to be in ned's arms always. conor's eyes flick over ned's face, seeing his concerned little smile. it makes his heartache, devastatingly.

he loves ned roche. he loves him. he can't help it. all of his instincts push him towards loving this boy like he's not sure he's loved, anyone. he hates him looking so troubled...all for him. so he does all he can think to do and kisses the concern off his face. hard. bruisingly, almost. god, help him the rest of the way. and he does, because when conor pulls away after half a moment, ned smiles for a second before grabbing conor's face and pulling him down to kiss him softly. he can't lie, he's imagined this one too many times. at night, when he's supposed to be sleeping or in the mornings when ned is sleeping, and he's lying awake, wishing he was lying there with ned. honestly, it's better than he imagined. soft and gentle and... _ah_...loving. _that's a jab in the chest._

ned loves this. his mouth moving with conor's, he hasn't imagined it so many times, but, he's known he's wanted this for too long. maybe the first time he saw conor, when he was doing press up's and the gay panic kicked in. or maybe after that when conor said that he liked the song he plagiarized for the essay and ned showed conor the basement. he's not sure but either way, he knows this feels right. everything feels so right.

conor moves then, bracketing ned's hips with his legs and ned pulls conor's face down. he's too fucking tall. but it's nice. he's tall and wide and strong and ned revels in it. their kisses change too when conor moves. ned's always been slightly sceptical about tongue kissing, there's no way having someone else's tongue in your mouth can feel good. like..how? but he's wrong. god. he's never been so glad to be wrong. and when it happens and ned opens his mouth further, he can't help but make a tiny ' _hhh_ ' noise.

'ned' conor says against ned's mouth when they pull apart for half a second. he doesn't want to stop kissing him ever. but also, he has something he wants to ask ned. it's important. he kisses him again, a string of small kisses. he can feel ned wanting more beneath him. 'ned' he says again. this time he gets an answer with a small 'mhm' against his mouth. conor pulls away fully this time. he feels on fire, again. ned looks slightly disappointed conor isn't still kissing him but he entertains himself, scratching his nails up and down conor's thighs from where he's sat in his lap.

' _do you want to be my boyfriend_?' conor says in a spur. it comes out all at once and he's hardly prepared for it to come out by the time it has. he wants to run. he so badly wants to run. it's his natural instinct, he can't help it. he knows, in this moment, either ned is gonna push him off and he's gonna be left on the floor alone, again. or he's going to kiss him, hard, and conor will sob equally as hard. so he doesn't move, he just waits.

ned doesn't say anything for a moment. only moving his hands from his thighs into conor's hair, where he plays with little strands. conor tapers with the material of ned's shirt at the shoulder, anxiously. god, he might run, ned would've said yes by now, god, no fuck, please. then ned looks up at him, pretty eyes and all, and fucking smiles. that stupid fucking gorgeous smile. if conor wasn't toeing the line for having a tantrum before, god knows he is now. he wants to cry. he can't look. he just keeps his eyes down looking at where he's playing with the fabric of ned's shirt.

'conor...angel. look at me please.' his heart might explode out of his chest from the way it's thrumming inside of him. ned's hands moving from his hair to his shoulders, drags his fingertips softly. conor doesn't want to look. he can't. he might cry. 'please?..conor?' so he does it anyways. he can't stop himself from looking at ned, his voice is so comforting....just enveloping him in warmth. 'thank you.' conor wants to smile back, but he's so close to tears. why is this so painful, oh lord. god is laughing at him, he thinks.

'i love you. of course, i'll be your boyfriend.'

'i-...' 'i love you too.'

he kisses him hard. ned is everything. he always has been.

conor masters is 17 years old when he tells his boyfriend he loves him, for the first time.


End file.
